Win Some, Lose Some
by heymamawolf
Summary: It’s something he thinks a lot about these days: leaving. \\ The summer after Puck's Junior year.
1. june

**Summary: **The summer after Puck's Junior year, told in three parts. This is June.

**Disclaimer: **Puck/Rachel/all things _Glee _clearly aren't mine, just borrowing them to keep myself entertained until the hiatus ends. The original characters, however, are indeed mine, but I wouldn't mind if Ryan Murphy & co. borrowed them for a few episodes. Just sayin'.

---

**WIN SOME, LOSE SOME**

---

**june**

_i'm old enough to feel the way i do  
and i know that you are true  
it's just a part of my genes_  
- pete yorn

---

Summer comes to Lima with little fanfare. While the last day of school used to usher in a season of snowballs instead of Slushees, bright pink slices of watermelon and pool party keggers, now all Puck has to look forward to is three solid months of getting his ass eaten alive by mosquitoes.

Finding a job is easier than he expects; he may be a fuck up, but opportunity has always had an uncanny habit of seeking him out. A week before school ends, his uncle's best friend, Vinnie, calls him up and asks him to work at his garage over the summer. So after three straight days of not showering or even really changing out of his pajamas, Puck douses himself with Axe, tosses a navy blue shirt with his name sewn on the front over his ratty old wifebeater, and heads down to Vinnie's Parts and Auto off Main Street.

The job is fine. He gets paid less than minimum wage but money is money, and if he wants out of this cow town, he needs to start saving up. It's something he thinks a lot about these days: leaving. Sometime between Glee suffering their heartbreaking defeat at Nationals and Quinn writing him off for good, he decides he's not going to waste his life in this fucking shithole any second longer than he has to. He tells himself he needs to start pinching pennies and saving up, so when he's done with school he'll actually be able to go and figure out what he's good at and make some money doing it. He doesn't know what that is yet, but if there's one thing he's sure of, it's that this fucking place is slowly sucking the life out of him and he's had enough.

So it doesn't matter that he makes seven bucks an hour to fix carburetors with a bunch of old dudes all day—as long as it's enough to get him a bus ticket out come graduation.

-

The second half of junior year wasn't particularly kind to Noah Puckerman. For a while there in the middle, he thought maybe things were okay. His mom had sat him down, wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and told him he had to grow the fuck up. He wasn't generally someone who listened to his mother's advice, but she gripped his shoulders so hard there were little bruises where her fingertips were and the look in her eyes told him that this wasn't some fucking joke. So when Quinn moved in, he really tried to make things work. He took her to Lamaze class and did all the cheesy shit husbands do for their pregnant wives in the movies and tried to tell himself that she was his family now and nothing else mattered. When he told his mom that he didn't really feel it—that it was hard when neither person really felt anything for each other—she just put a hand on his face: _if you pretend long enough, one day it'll be real_.

Quinn gave birth in April and it didn't matter how much they prepared because Puck still had no fucking clue what to expect. And then a little girl with his green eyes wrapped her tiny fingers around his. Right then and there, he decided it: there was no chance in Hell they were giving that kid up. Not without a fight.

When Quinn told him she loved the baby too but wasn't ready – that she just wanted her old life again – he fell back on what he knew best: blind rage and irrationality. He blew all the money he'd been saving to get them an apartment on an attorney. She got his petition for sole custody (addressed to her, sent to his house) and laughed bitterly before slapping him hard across the face. _This isn't some game_, she had told him, _this is our child's life_. He never understood why everyone always thought he was some idiot—_I'm not fucking joking, this is real_, he told her, shoving the notice back into her hands before storming out and fucking the first cougar who answered his call.

When he got back home that night, it was late, but Quinn was up in the living room feeding the baby. He tried to make a beeline for the stairs, but didn't get more than half way there before she spoke up.

"There's such a thing as open adoption, you know." She never looked at him, only down at the kid. "She wouldn't know that we were her parents, but we'd at least get to visit every now and then."

"I'm not just giving my girl to a bunch of fucking strangers."

She was silent for a long while, staring at the baby clutching at her clothes.

"I have a cousin in Louisiana. Her and her husband have been trying for a really long—" Finally, she looked up at him, interrupting her train of thought. She breathed deeply before speaking again. "They'd take good care of her."

Quinn forgave him for a lot of really fucked up shit during her pregnancy – chalked it up to his pea brain and loose lips – but when he tried to take that baby away from her…It wasn't something she could just forgive and forget. In the end, they compromised and agreed to send her to Quinn's family down south. The assumption was that he could visit whenever he wanted; she even showed him pictures of a house with a big porch, white picket fences and a tire swing; a mother _and_ a father. It wasn't 'til he saw them that he realized how stupid he'd been; that the kid would have everything he never had and no risk of him fucking it all up.

Quinn was right, but he didn't have the nerve to tell her, so when she packed all her things from his mom's guest room and high tailed it to Louisiana the day after school let out to spend the summer with her baby's new parents and the only family that were willing to take her in, he knew he was never gonna see their kid again and that whatever life he pretended to want was fucking over.

-

It doesn't take long for Puck to fall into his summer routine. He gets up at six every morning to run a few miles, which surprised even himself at first, but these days, the only thing that clears his head is getting some sort of work out in, even if it's just a jog. After a quick breakfast, he's out the door and at the shop from seven to seven everyday except Sundays and some Saturdays. Sometimes he works 'til nine if he can weasel some extra hours in. He's always too beat to ever do anything after work, so he schedules his pool cleanings for weekends: a chance to make some extra cash and satisfy his "needs." All in all, it's a pretty decent arrangement, he figures.

So when some shaggy-haired dude in skinny jeans and bright turquoise sneakers pulls his guitar and a bunch of flyers out of his backseat before dropping off his '92 Carolla, Puck really doesn't need (or have the time) to take on any additional commitments.

"Hey man, just need an oil change, but if you could check out the brake pads too, that would be fantastic," the kid slips on the douchiest pair of wayfarers Puck's ever seen, but instead of laughing and calling him out on it, his eyes wander to the flyers.

"You got a band?" He asks, wiping the grease from his hands. "Yo, I play guitar."

He half expects the kid to blow him off (he can tell, he's one of those elitist pricks) but instead, he nearly drops everything he's holding and stares at Puck like he's his fucking savior.

"Are you kidding me, man? Because if you're fucking kidding me—"

"Nah, I'm pretty good too," He replies, pulling the pen from behind his ear and checking some boxes on the form for the car.

"Listen," the guy scrambles for a bright yellow flyer and hands it over, "come to this address tonight at eight and bring your guitar."

-

When Puck shows up at the dude's place, he doesn't know what exactly he expects, all he knows is it wasn't this. The address is for some grungy old apartment complex in a shitty part of town, and he thinks about leaving before he even knocks on the door, but he figures, _what the fuck, you only live once_.

"Hey man, thanks for coming by on such short notice," as the guy from the garage shakes his hand and ushers him through the door, Puck can't quite shake the feeling like this was all a big mistake. "It's just we've been trying to find someone in this town who plays the guitar for the past month and it's been fucking impossible."

The place smells like week old pizza, dirty gym socks and weed, and far be it for Puck to criticize people's personal hygiene habits, but…Shit's disgusting.

"Yeah, well…" Puck trails off, looking around the drab, bare apartment scattered with back issues of Q and Penthouse, crooked posters from movies he's never even heard of (what the fuck is a _Donnie Darko_ anyway?) before tossing a nod at the other band mates. "What do you guys call yourselves anyway?"

"Wolf Hunter," the guy says quickly and a cough sounding suspiciously like "tool" echoes from the direction of the couch. He spins around quick and points a warning finger at two dudes who look like they'd much rather be playing Halo than dealing with this shit. "Dude, shut the fuck up. Wolf names are in. Wolf Parade, Sea Wolf, Wolfmother…"

"We're gonna have the fuckin' ASPCA on our asses for this shit." The lanky guy on the couch pipes in.

"All I'm saying is Ninja Zombies would be dope," the bearded dude calls out and Puck shrugs, then nods his head in agreement.

"The day we're the Ninja Zombies is the day I fucking kill myself." The guy from the garage turns back to Puck and offers a hand. "Hey I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Ethan," they shake and he gestures back to the guys behind him, "that's Bleeker and the asshole at the end is Bam-Bam."

"Like Barney Rubble's kid?"

"_Exactly_."

They don't have any specific song in mind for his audition, they just tell him to show them what he's got. When he busts out N.W.A.'s _Straight Outta Compton_, they don't know whether to laugh or kick him the fuck out, so they decide to play it off like a joke and cut him off half-way through. They ask him to play something a little more mellow, so he goes with Pink Floyd.

Thirty seconds in, they're neck deep in a classic rock sing-a-long and Puck knows he's got the gig.

-

His first free Saturday in June, Puck books appointments with all his most loyal pool customers; it's been a while and he figures he should make the rounds. That is, until his mom wakes him up first thing in the morning to tell him she'll be stuck at the hospital all day and won't be able to take Sarah and her friends to that gay-ass game place with the singing waitresses on roller skates. Her eleventh birthday was last week but she's been looking forward to this stupid party all month, and his mom feels awful. He doesn't really give a shit and she doesn't technically tell him he has to take his sister and her friends, but she has that tone in her voice that tells him he really has no other option.

"We can take ourselves, you know." Sarah says, crossing her arms in indignation.

"Sure, because no child molesters hang out at Chuck E. Cheese." His voice oozes sarcasm and her eyes just narrow.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Noah, _it's not Chuck E. Cheese_. It's called _Starlight_."

As Sarah storms out of the living room, Puck plops down on the couch. He usually sleeps 'til three in the afternoon anyway, so what's a few hours in the middle of the day? At the very least, he figures all the chances he'll have to turn Sarah's birthday party into a living Hell will make it totally worth it.

When a couple of her friends meet up at the house to carpool over, he thinks maybe it won't be that bad. Aside from some annoying as fuck Joe Jonas prepubescent orgasming, they're pretty tame. But then Sandy Tompkins shows up.

The second Puck spots her crazy eyes, he knows he's fucked. He understands the mysterious pull he has over the opposite sex, but this shit's just mind-boggling. Ever since he dated the girl's sister for a week last year, the kid's over at their house _all the fucking time_, trying to have conversations with him as he slams his bedroom door in her face and making googly eyes at him across the kitchen that he'd think were innocent if she weren't undressing him with them. Basically, the kid creeps him the fuck out, and now he's stuck.

He's cursing under his breath when he grabs the keys and heads to the door, trying to shepherd the kids out with a rousing, "get your asses in gear, twerps." As he stands at the door watching them pass one by one, he notices Sandy sticking behind in the foyer. He swears the kid is staring at his package.

"Yo, amber alert," he points a warning finger in her direction. "I know you like what you see, but shit's disgusting so keep your pervy little Hannah Montana eyes to yourself and move it."

Aside from having to meet a bunch of parents as they drop their kids off, Puck doesn't really have to do anything at the stupid Starlight place, which makes the whole thing a lot more bearable. After a few minutes, he cashes in five bucks worth of tokens and heads straight to the arcade area, determined to completely wreck the four-eyed kid half his size standing at his favorite first person shooter game. After almost an hour passes, he tries his best to pretend like he didn't actually have his ass handed to him five straight games by the Harry Potter wannabe next to him, but the girl peeking out from behind the wall, staring fiercely at his ass is kind of distracting.

"Seriously, kid, what's your end game?" He calls to her, and she steps out from behind her hiding place, unabashed. "'Cause if you think you're actually gonna get a piece of this, you're wrong. So just go and play with your little friends. Maybe call me in ten years if you're hot."

Sandy bats her eyes and blows him a kiss, clearly pleased with herself as she skips back to her friends.

"_Fuck_¸" Puck rumbles to himself as he turns back to the game.

"_Women_," the kid next to him mutters, rolling his eyes.

Puck fully intends to split his three hours evenly between the arcade and the basketball hoops at the other end of the place, but it's not long before he realizes Sarah's stupid little friend has started recruiting creepers to follow him around and worship the ground he walks on. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be a bad thing, but last time he checked, he hasn't switched faces with Finn Hudson, so all this Nick Jr. heartthrob business is really starting to fuck with his head. In fact, Puck is just about ready to put down his plastic gun and appeal to his new ten year-old arcade mate for help when he hears a familiar voice echo through the hall.

When he turns and peers out, he sees an even more familiar pair of skinny little legs wobbling on roller skates and flimsy arms struggling to hold a gigantic pan of pizza. He tosses the kid next to him his last two tokens before he makes his way out.

"Berry?"

She stops in the middle of some song he doesn't recognize and turns back to him, a horrified look on her face. He just grins and nods his head.

"Sexy skirt." It's not sexy, it's the size of a house. Still, he knows an opportunity when he sees one, so he sidles up next to her, and places a hand dangerously close to her ass before arching his eyebrow in Sandy Thompkins' direction. Rachel rolls her eyes and swats it away before turning back to the kids, continuing to serve them their pizza, completely oblivious to the four pairs of eyes now sending her daggers from across the table.

"What are you doing here, Puck?" She asks, a pop in her P. He crosses his arms and laughs as she struggles with the slices.

"You see that brat with the tiara? That little shit's my sister."

Rachel gasps, her eyes wide in shock. "Noah Puckerman, you can't use that kind of language around _the children_."

"Bitch, gimme my pizza!" One of Sarah's male friends calls out, and Puck almost dies laughing.

She rolls her eyes again and starts singing as she hands out the final slices. She's about ready to launch into her little routine when a venomous-looking Sandy shoves her fingers in her ears, and motions for all her friends to do the same.

"Lady, your singing sucks!" She calls out. "Just leave us alone!"

Rachel clamps her mouth closed and glares at Sandy, determined. "_Fine_. I'd rather my talents not be wasted on ungrateful little miscreants anyway!"

"And your face is ugly too!" Sandy calls out as Rachel skates off, Puck following close on her heels. "Right, Pucky?"

Puck spins around and points a menacing finger in Sandy's direction. "Don't you fucking start with that Pucky shit."

When he follows Rachel into the performers' area in the back, it's practically silent except for the sounds of a few voices coming from the kitchen. He barely gets a word out before she flings her hands dramatically against over her face, and starts launching into her tragic tale of what is easily the worst summer she has ever endured. ("Berry, you realize we're only a few weeks in, right?" "Your point being…?")

It was a week before school ended when things really started to unravel for her. The internship she had lined up with the most critically-acclaimed musical theater troupe in New York City fell through (she didn't have any idea how they found out she wasn't actually a junior in college) and she was heartbroken. She didn't let herself dwell though, and instead started researching places to pursue her passions in Cleveland. Trying to line something up in New York on such short notice wasn't feasible, and though she knew there were limited opportunities in Ohio, if she'd find anything here, she figured it had to be in Cleveland. But it didn't matter where she looked, the girl just couldn't catch a break.

Her dads had told her not to sweat it, that she should just spend the summer relaxing for once, but she would have none of it. Doing nothing was never an option. She had three months free and she was determined to do something to further her career and challenge her vocal range, no matter the job. Turns out this place was the only position where she'd have a chance to sing on a regular basis while making a pretty decent summer salary. The roller skates were awful and the kids hated her almost as much as she hated them, but she just told herself, _these are the sacrifices you make for your craft_.

"Wow, Berry, your life is _so hard_," Puck pats her on the knee and she glares at him through narrow eyes.

"It _is_, actually, thank you for sympathizing." She straightens her skirt before turning her attention to him. "What about you? I would have expected you to be at that football camp Finn was so eager to attend in Ann Arbor this summer—" She's cut off mid-sentence by a handsome looking man leaning over the counter, calling out from the kitchen.

"—Ray, fifteen milkshakes ready and waiting for your angelic high B!"

"Charlie, why do you do this to me?" Rachel groans melodramatically before getting up and skating over.

"You need any help with that?" Puck calls out as she struggles with the tray.

"No thank you, Noah. But I appreciate the gesture."

"Awesome, 'cause I didn't actually plan on helping you."

-

Of everyone at McKinley, the only people even remotely supportive of his attempted foray into fatherhood was the Glee Club. Genuine or completely insincere, their motivations didn't really matter to Puck, he just appreciated having at least one class where people didn't give him shit all the damn time.

Of everyone at McKinley, the only person who didn't treat him any differently after all that was Rachel.

He doesn't really know why he tells her about his job at the garage or offers that she stop by sometime, but as he's heading out the door surrounded by obnoxious snots, he calls it over his shoulder. Yeah, he might have a soft spot for the chick, but that doesn't change the fact that talking to her is like pulling teeth. In retrospect, he chalks it up to the fact that aside from his band mates (who don't really count anyway because they're all in college), he hasn't seen anyone his age for the past couple weeks.

When the summer started, Puck thought he preferred it that way. All that baby drama from the past year fucked his rep up real good and news travels fast in a small town. Apparently, when you knock someone up, it doesn't matter how hot you are, no girl wants within ten feet of you. And the dudes? Well, his teammates were pretty cool, but he wasn't an idiot, he knew when he wasn't wanted. Sure, being a douche guaranteed a certain degree of social stability when it came to the herd, but at the end of the day, what he did to Finn – not only the most beloved kid in the whole fuckin' school, but his best friend since he was _seven_ – wasn't the kind of shit people forgot.

With Rachel, it's not that he wants someone to talk to or even wants some ass (he's pretty sure he could bag a couple of the chicks who hang out at their Thursday night practice sessions anyway) but maybe it's just…Having contact with something familiar that he misses.

He tries not to think about it, and the fact that she doesn't come around right away helps. But then, just when he breathes a sigh of relief Friday evening (or does he tell himself it wouldn't have been worth it anyway?) she shows up in a deep purple tube top and the shortest jean shorts he thinks he's ever seen. The guys whistle and catcall, she reprimands them for being rude and chauvinistic, and he just says, "Whaddya want, Berry?"

He rolls back under the car he's working on and hears her voice vaguely echo through the small space. "Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and I figured I'd stop by and say hello." She pauses for a beat, tapping her toes nervously against the ground. "—And possibly see if maybe you wanna grab some frozen yogurt after you get out or something."

He's scheduled a pool cleaning for that night, but it's obvious that she doesn't have anyone to hang out with (in fact, she told him that much at his sister's party) and technically neither does he. She's totally not worth giving up his appointment with Mrs. H, but…

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He calls from under the car. "Swing back around in an hour and I should be done."

-

"This isn't frozen yogurt, you know. This is just soft serve." Rachel says, twirling her spoon through her vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. "_Real_ frozen yogurt has active probiotic cultures that clear out your digestive tract with each refreshing little bite."

"Active _what_?" The look of genuine disgust mixed with intense confusion on his face tells her it just isn't worth the explanation.

"Forget about it."

He's already more than half done his chocolate vanilla twist with extra Oreos when they find an empty picnic table and take a seat. His back is fucking killing him from hours of wheeling himself under car after car, and he has a killer headache set firmly behind his eyes, but he just focuses on shoveling sweet bites into his mouth and the way Rachel's tube top is slowly riding lower and lower…

"I don't know how they do it, Noah. Working these awful menial jobs where your talents are wholly underappreciated and the people you serve are never grateful to at least have their stupid demon children fed."

"Rough day with the brats?"

"Rough doesn't even _begin_ to describe it." As she launches into a long-winded story about some seven year-old's birthday party and a little boy who was determined to pull her skirt down as she was singing, Puck turns his brain off and lets her vent. He's never really been friends with Berry (or not friends either, come to think of it) but after a year of seeing her on a pretty regular basis, he knows her schtick. To put it lightly, Berry's a first-rate complainer. Sure, she can be a woman of action if she really feels like it, but for the most part, she bitches then sighs and deals with whatever shit situation she's been dumped with. He, on the other hand, doesn't understand the point of complaining; it's just a waste of breath and energy that you could be spending making your shitty situation less shitty.

"Dude, why don't you just fucking quit?" Rachel stares at him like he's lost his mind.

"Did you even listen to a word I said?"

"No, not really," he says, tossing his cup into the trashcan. Nothin' but net.

"I knew this was a mistake—" He knows that tone. It's the huffy one she gets right before her trademark storm outs in Glee. Just as she's about to turn around, he reaches for her wrist.

"Listen, I don't know what 'this' you think is such a mistake 'cause last time I checked we were just two lame-ass, friendless losers eating shitty frozen yogurt together. If you think we're gonna like, share our secrets and paint each other's toenails, you've got another thing comin'."

She rolls her eyes and snatches her hand away before crossing her arms stubbornly.

"All I'm saying is if the job's so crappy, _quit_." He stands up and yawns widely, stretching his arms over his head. As his shirt rides up and gives her a little peek of happy trail, her eyes dart away, then back to him, then away again, a faint blush washing over her cheeks. Thankfully, he's too exhausted to notice, let alone give her crap about it. "It's not like you need the money or anything."

He leans back against the picnic table and sits down, resting his feet on the bench. She looks at him and thinks, _you make a good point_, then shakes the thought out of her head and takes a seat next to him.

"It's not a matter of money, Noah. It's a matter of personal growth."

"Personal growth, my ass. Some of us don't have the luxury." She makes a face as he cracks his knuckles and stares off at a bunch of kids playing in the distance.

"Is that why you're working so hard this summer?" She asks softly, unconsciously leaning her shoulder closer to his. "To take care of your baby?"

"The baby's gone. Has a family." He says stonily. Her eyes furrow and she contemplates pressing him further, but his slumped shoulders convince her that now's probably not the time. "I'm working my tail off to get my ass outta here." He says simply.

"I thought you liked Lima."

"What's there to like? The Blimpie's on Chase? The Dollar Tree on Maple? This place is fucking amateur."

"So you wanna leave…" She thinks aloud, locking her fingers together and holding them to her chin before peering back over at Puck. "What are you gonna do? Where are you gonna go?"

"Fuck if I know, man," he says, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and fiddling with the case. "All I know is I gotta save up now so come May I can peace outta here for good. I'll figure out the rest as I go along."

She purses her lips and nods slowly, clearly not convinced. Neither of them say anything for a long moment, Rachel staring at her hands and him staring off at God knows what, then finally—

"So, what have you been up to since school ended?"

Puck hasn't really had anyone to tell about crazy Vinnie at the garage and his 35 year-old, butt-ugly daughter who's been trying to get in his pants for the past two weeks, so he finds himself cracking up as he spouts story after inappropriate story, much to Rachel's distaste. He tosses in a brief mention of his pool cleaning business – also to her distaste – when he realizes he completely forgot to tell her about what probably is the most unexpectedly awesome thing he's done, pretty much ever.

"And oh yeah, I joined a band, too. Which has been pretty fucking rough, trying to juggle our schedules and learn all these new songs and shit, but—I don't know, it's kinda cool."

With the mention of music, her eyes perk up.

"What kind of a band?"

-

By the end of the month, Puck looks forward to his practices with the guys more than his weekend cougar fucks, which says a lot. Its kind of annoying that the elitist assholes give him such crap for stupid shit like wearing American Eagle shirts and loving Luda, but he doesn't give a fuck 'cause Bam-Bam's always got his back.

Every few days, they give him a new song to learn and a couple of CDs to listen to. Ethan's determined to root out his shitty taste, one epic album at a time. Puck would take offense to it, but free music is free music and the stuff they give him to listen to actually isn't half bad. He expects it all to be experimental garbage with harpsichords and flutes and shit, but there's always insane guitar riffs and vocals that make him think that joining a band was the best decision he ever made.

"You better have a meatball sub in that paper bag, Berry," Puck calls out as she walks into the garage, her poofy pink skirt floating around her.

"If by meatball you mean tofuball, then yes." He covers his face with his hands and groans as the guys around him cackle. He tosses a greasy towel at one of their faces before he snatches the bag from her, grabs his guitar and heads out the front door.

"Peace out, bitches," he calls over his shoulder, waving a disinterested hand in the air as Vinnie says something about being back in an hour sharp for Samson's Dodge Ram.

Puck doesn't really think about how random this little thing he has going with Berry is, nor does he even like to put a label on it. It just exists, and almost always with some sort of food, which to be honest, is all the excuse he really needs. Still, he's not stupid enough to not see that something was definitely going on. Ever since that day at the frozen yogurt place, Berry's been showing up at the garage at lunchtime, asking him how band practice is going, distracting him with food, trying to dig deeper into the baby situation and to psychoanalyze his ass. He humors her, mostly because food ain't free and he's a growing boy, but also because she's an easy chick to talk to. Back when him and Finn didn't have any weird drama hanging between them, they used to talk about stuff, kinda like him and Berry do now. None of the gay-ass feelings shit she always tries to get him to think about, but just…Shooting the shit. Talking about everything and nothing, then bouncing.

The only difference is instead of Hudson, it's this annoying little chick with perky tits and perfect legs. Yeah, his eyes still wander (he's human, after all) but to be honest, he doesn't want anything to do with any crazy teenage girls anymore. He's got his cougars and that's all he needs. No questions, no feelings, no hormonal outbursts, just sex, plain and simple. So while Berry is fly as hell, he doesn't really think about that shit.

Too often, at least.

They finish their lunch on the swings by the playground across the street, Rachel bitching about her latest devil kid, and him running through chords in his head. When he pulls out his guitar and slings it over his shoulder, she crosses her arms and sighs exasperatedly.

"Noah, one day I will honestly start taking it personally that you never listen to a word I say."

"Yo Berry, check it—" He starts playing a few lazy chords that quickly turn into a melody. She listens patiently as he sings a song she's never heard before (she tells herself over and over, _he's not singing to me, he's just singing _at _me_. But it's hard when he croons, _if it's the wish to run away then I will grant it, take whatever what you think of while I go gas up the truck—_) When he finishes, he looks up at her expectantly, and she slaps on a smile and claps. He fishes a CD out of his guitar case and hands it to her.

"Avett Brothers." He says simply, fiddling with the cords on his guitar. "Ethan gave me that shit last week when I kept busting his ass with Luda."

Rachel turns the case over in her hands and scans the track list.

"It's probably not your kinda thing since there's no, like, Barbara Streisand and shit, but its pretty chill."

"I'm sure it is," she says faintly, placing it in her purse and letting her fingers linger over it a beat longer than necessary.

"You know—" The shift in his tone startles her, but he pretends like it's no big deal. "Our first gig's coming up next week." Her face lights up and she's about to launch into a million and one reasons why _these are the moments, Noah_, but he cuts her off before she even opens her mouth. "—And I was thinking, if you wanted to check it out…I wouldn't be pissed, is all."

She looks at him coyly before nudging his knee.

"Are you saying you want me to come to your show, Noah Puckerman?"

"Fuck no. I'm just saying you're the only person in this stupid town who doesn't wanna fucking kill me, and I'm gonna need someone to witness this monumental moment in music history to tell everyone what awesome shit they missed out on when they finally stop treating me like a mutant freak."

The frown on Rachel's face is pretty priceless, he has to admit.

"Well…I'm honored…I guess…?"

He nods his head triumphantly and gives her a rough pat on the back ("Um, _ow_.") before he puts his guitar away and checks the time. When he sits back up, he covers his face with his hands and groans loudly.

"Fuck, Berry. Making money blows."

"At least you don't have twenty five angry ten year-olds waiting to tear you apart. I'm sorry, Noah, but it makes no sense for me to sing _Kiss the Girl_ instead of _Part of Your World_. It's like they've never even seen _The Little Mermaid_."

-

Puck's first gig with Wolf Hunter ends up being the biggest shitshow he's ever been a part of. (And he's been a part of some pretty epic shitshows.)

It all starts when Rachel shows up as they're getting everything set a half-hour early. He's tuning his guitar and adjusting some wires on stage when her jaw drops, her eyes focusing solely on the new pair of leather pants he's currently sporting.

"Noah Puckerman, _what on Earth are you wearing_?"

The whole band looks up to see her standing there, her hair in braided pigtails, her hands firmly planted at the waist of her plaid pink miniskirt in outrage.

"Puckerman, why is your girlfriend dressed like Pipi Longstockings?" Bleeker stares at Rachel like she's some exotic, wild animal and Puck shoves his shoulder, muttering a quick, "the chick's not my girlfriend, asshole," under his breath. He's about to chew him out real good with his whole, "The Puckerone is a Lone Stallion" speech, but steam's practically coming out of Berry's ears, and if he doesn't go over there and shut her the fuck up, he's pretty sure there will be serious hell to pay.

When he hops off the stage, he takes Rachel by the shoulders and directs her out of his band mates' view.

"Berry, we don't go on for another half hour, what are you doing here?"

"Noah, leather pants have _no_ breathability. You really should have asked for my opinion before you made this purchase because not only does wearing tight pants lower your sperm count, but you will be seriously sorry to find out how awful those will chaff—"

"Shut up, I look sexy and you know it."

"You look _ridiculous_."

"Ridiculously sexy?"

"No, just ridiculous."

Puck expects there to be hordes of adoring chicks practically begging to get in his surprisingly breathable (but yes, painfully chaffing) leather pants, but the only people who show up are drunk middle-aged dudes trying to reclaim the glory of their youth. Rachel sits in the corner and watches the show in eager anticipation, because it's actually the first time she's ever been to a _real_ concert (the Cleveland Philharmonic doesn't count) and after hearing so much about Puck's band mates it's kind of fascinating to see them in real life. They're exactly like he described them, which she still finds strange because they're the complete opposite of everything he is. They're hipster and cool and funny and talk about politics and foreign films. Quite frankly, they look like the kind of kids Puck used to stuff in trashcans at school.

The first song goes off without a hitch and Rachel is amazed by the fact that they are actually playing together and _sounding like an actual band_ until the second song starts, Puck's amp goes on the fritz, Ethan's mic short circuits and Bleeker gets stung by a bee. By the third song, the band has completely deconstructed before her very eyes—except for Bam-Bam, who's banging away on his drumkit like some Zen master.

When they finish their set, a group of drunk guys give them a rousing ovation before thrusting their lighters in the air and calling for an encore. Rachel whips around and gives them a stern glare before turning back to a disappointed-looking Puck.

As they start packing up their equipment, Rachel hops on stage and tries to give them a hand.

"I really don't know how you boys expect to be taken seriously without an agent managing your affairs." No one's really listening to what she's saying, but she keeps talking anyway. "If I were you—Bleeker, was it?—I'd slap a civil suit on Clyde's for that awful sting. What if you were allergic to bees? They should be held entirely responsible—"

"_Puckerman_. Please make your girlfriend shut up," Bleeker calls out from behind the amp only to get a stiff punch in the shoulder from Bam-Bam.

"Dude, that's a _lady_ you're fuckin' talking to. Show some respect."

Bleeker rubs his arm and frowns before grumbling a quiet apology.

"Listen, being in a band fucking _sucks_," Puck finally says, throwing his cords down. "You guys said I'd get so much ass I'd have to start a fucking raffle for that shit."

"Maybe if you didn't wear those awful pants—" Rachel shrugs, gesturing to his lower half.

"Seriously, dude, what were you even thinking?"

"Yeah, man. I think those pantaloons got some seriously bad juju," Bam-Bam offers from behind the drums.

Puck just drops his head and glares pitifully at Rachel. She shrugs and gives him a comforting tap on the head. "Can't say I didn't warn you."

-

Within two days of Puck's first gig, Rachel's already in full agent mode. She doesn't really ask anyone for their opinion on the matter, just starts showing up to practices, pulling cigarettes out of people's mouths and throwing away half-eaten Twinkies and crusty old Hot Pockets. She brings organic soy rice cakes and carrot sticks every night and all the guys groan, except for Bam-Bam, who's pretty sure he's found a kindred spirit in the perky little hummingbird who's taken them under her wing. Puck tries to pretend like he doesn't know who this chick is (he's not particularly successful) but to his shock, within a few days, practices stop dissolving into battles to the death with Bam-Bam's drum sticks (light saber sounds and everything) and they actually come up with a decent set list.

It doesn't matter how many times they remind Rachel her help is neither required nor wanted, she keeps coming back. Puck's pretty sure the rest of the guys are holding secret meetings about how and when to kick him out of the band, until one day, Rachel bursts through the door, hopping up and down in excitement.

"You'll never believe it, but I just booked you all a show in Toledo _that may actually include an audience_."

The guys start cheering and Rachel gives them each a big hug before running into Puck's arms. He lifts her up, more than slightly baffled by the fact that this is actually real life and not some alternate reality, until he sets her down and she starts rambling on about estimates for merchandise and how they can get some tax deductions by creating an LLC. He looks at her suspiciously for a moment before crossing his arms.

"Berry, why do you suddenly care so much about this?"

"Listen, Noah. Just because I'm not going to make anything of myself this summer doesn't mean I can't help someone else. And let's be real here, you guys need _a lot of help_."

Before Puck can get a word out in response, he gets a hard thump on his back from Ethan.

"Puckerman, your girlfriend is apeshit…_And it's awesome_."

---

**Author's Note:** I know, it's been a while since I've posted here. I've been mainly using my LiveJournal (of_hearts) for fic purposes but since I've dreamed up another long, vaguely epic endeavor, I figured I should double post it since it's more convenient to access multi-chapter stories here. If you're interested in reading any of my other fic, please do swing by the LiveJournal, or let me know if you'd like me to re-post them here as well.


	2. july

**A/N: **Thanks for all the great feedback for the first part! Sorry for the delay with this—school's been keeping me busy lately. Hope you enjoy!

---

**july**

---

_can i call you mine?  
can i call you mine?  
can i call you mine?  
can i call you mine?_  
- laura veirs

---

The first time they hook up, they're in his truck, eighty miles from home. He's thinking about the rush of playing for a club full of people, and she's completely forgotten that they're even in Toledo, let alone with his band. All she sees is his summer tan and swirling green eyes with specks of hazel.

To be honest, she's been thinking about this for the past week now, so when he kisses her yet again, she smiles against his lips.

The air around them feels sticky as the humid summer night seeps through the windows and bugs buzz in and out. Puck swats a moth away then sits up and pulls his shirt over his head. He stares down at her for a long moment – all long brown hair and big brown eyes – and before he can even formulate a thought, let alone act, Rachel reaches up for his torso and pulls him back down to her.

-

When she doesn't come to the garage during her lunch hour on Monday, he tells himself it has nothing to do with that night. It's not like they had sex anyway—yeah they kind of rounded third, but that's totally different than sealing the deal. Plus, it's not like it was something new to either of them. Neither saw or did anything they didn't see or do those nights in her bedroom back in October. Or rather, were close to seeing or doing. And whatever, it's obvious that if anyone should be avoiding anyone else, _he_ should be avoiding _her_. So what if hanging out this summer hasn't been _that_ bad, at the end of the day, regardless of the chick's tight little bod, _she_'s definitely the one who's verging on psychotic and probably not worth the trouble.

But the problem is this: he can't stop fucking thinking about her. About the way she grinned like a little Pussycat Doll before nipping at his neck, the way she pushed him down and clambered on top of him. Hell, even the way she _smelled_—a strange mix of apples, bubblegum and second-hand smoke. He's not thinking about her because he misses her, it's just that…She's usually _always there_. He never has to ask or anything, she just shows up. If this were a few months ago, he'd just write it off and move on to the next warm body, but things are different now, and not just because he has no fucking friends.

As much as he hates to admit it, given everything she's done for him and the band the past few weeks, a part of him is pretty convinced the ticket out of Lima he's so desperate for…That it actually is Rachel Berry.

-

When he bursts through the door of the guys' apartment, Bam-Bam is sprawled out over the couch sporting an xBox headset and a bag of Doritos.

"Man, I think I fucked up. _Bad_." Puck steps between the TV and the coffee table to block the game, and crosses his arms.

"I told you, man, dude wasn't messing around: _never touch the Jesus Hot Pocket_." Bam-Bam tosses his controller aside and brushes the crumbs off his chest. "Bleek's been saving that crap since last year. When he finds out you ate it, he's gonna lose his shit."

"What? No—Listen, you know Berry, right?"

"The girl who single-handedly put our band on the map?" He laughs to himself as he flings the headset off and leans forward on the couch. "Yeah, I think I've heard of her."

"We hooked up after the show on Saturday."

"Wait—You _what_?"

Puck starts pacing around the room, running a nervous hand through his hair as Bam-Bam sits shell-shocked on the couch, his eyes wide and jaw agape. "Yeah and before, she used to buzz around the garage every lunch break and we'd hang and she'd give me hell about all the shit I needed to do for you guys, but today she didn't come and—"

"Wait. What exactly do you mean by _hook up_?"

"—And now, dude, I'm pretty sure if she goes all chick on my ass or things get weird and she stops booking us gigs, Ethan and Bleek are gonna fucking kill me."

"But—I thought you guys weren't into each other—"

"—We're not."

"But—you're both always at each other's fucking throats—"

"—I know."

"But—she's always calling you an uncivilized heathen—"

"—I know, okay? Just tell me what to fucking do!"

Puck stares at his dazed drummer and raises his hands expectantly. Finally, Bam-Bam shakes his head and stands up, rubbing his face in exasperation. When he looks down and strokes his dark, scraggly stubble, he nods to himself then turns around and takes a seat on the arm of their loveseat.

"Okay, did you at least call her and see how she's doing?"

"What? Fuck no."

He hangs his head and takes a deep breath before looking back up at Puck again. "Listen, man. Rachel…She's of a dying breed."

Puck rolls his eyes and sighs before sitting on the coffee table across from Bam-Bam.

"What the fuck does that even _mean_?"

His friend leans forward and rests elbows on his knees. "It means she wears plaid skirts unapologetically. She appreciates the immortal genius of Bob Fosse and can debate the merits of Tennessee Williams for hours. She's a girl with Bill Gates' business savvy and the creative spirit of Nico."

When Puck just stares back at him blankly, his expression a cross between intense confusion and a brain dead daze, Bam-Bam rolls his eyes and leans forward.

"Okay, think of it this way: there are two types of women in this world. They're like…Guitars and harps." Puck furrows his brow and nods his head, so Bam-Bam continues. "Now some guys – badasses like yourself, for instance—" Puck grins and puckers his lips, nodding in approval at, well, himself. "—some guys are born to play the guitar. Acoustic, electric, Spanish, you name it. There are literally endless possibilities and dudes like you have got that game down." Clearly immersed in his elaborate analogy, Bam-Bam stands and starts walking around the room, gesturing back to Puck with his hands. "Now if I stuck some majestic, glorious harp in your face and was like, 'yo Puckerman, play this shit,' what would you do?"

Puck looks over at him, clearly confused. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

Bam-Bam slaps his hands together and spins around. "_Exactly_." He spreads his arms wide, triumphant. "You wouldn't know where to fucking begin, right?" Puck nods and looks back up at his new confidant, clearly skeptical. "Your fingers would be so calloused and rough from all your years plucking at guitar strings, you wouldn't be able to deal with it. But being the dude that you are, you'd go for it anyway. So you go in and you try to play it, and for the first couple seconds maybe things feel good, but then a few more seconds pass and one string goes, then the next string goes, and then another…Until finally you're standing there with all these fucking harp strings tangled in your fingers because you just _pulled them all out_. You'd _destroy_ that fucking harp, man."

He stares at Puck, waiting for a reaction, but Puck just sits there, clearly baffled. Bam-Bam sighs and places a comforting hand on his young bro's shoulder.

"All I'm saying, man, is don't destroy that fucking harp." Puck nods faintly, still clearly confused, and Bam-Bam thumps him on the back. "You get what I mean?"

-

Puck didn't get what he meant. _At all. _

But as he merges onto the highway, he's sure of two things: that Rachel is hot and that the band can't afford to have her walk away because he can't keep his dick in his pants. After little contemplation, he decides the only way to deal with this shit storm is to come up with a win-win plan for everyone involved: for him to get in Berry's panties, and for her to get in the band's pocket.

_Isn't that really just one endgame?_ He thinks to himself. From his experience, bagging a chick is basically a free pass to get anything you want out of them.

There's one problem though: Bam-Bam is right. Berry really _isn't_ like other girls. He doesn't doubt that once he gets her where he wants her, all the manager shit will fall into place, but what he is nervous about is that getting her there will be way more difficult than it should be. Berry isn't the kind of chick whose panties melt with a well-timed eyebrow raise; he knows he's going to have to work for it. But how exactly?

From seeing her on a pretty regular basis for Glee Club, he knows what her M.O. is. Girl digs lovey dovey bullshit, plain and simple. She likes to swoon; to be swept off her feet. She lives for serenades and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate truffles. Now, Puck is no Romeo, but he's not stupid either. He's had enough doe-eyed, lovesick freshmen girls to know how to crank up the romance and give 'em what they want. And inevitably, get what _he_ wants.

Using girls is familiar territory for Puck, so he knows he can pull it off. What he doesn't quite understand though is that nagging feeling he has in the back of his head telling him that all this is a shit-awful idea. He's not used to feeling guilty about running his game, but it's different this time because usually it's not on girls he's actually friends with. Hell, he's never even really _had_ friends who were girls.

Weirdly enough, he does consider Berry to be a friend. A high-strung, batshit lunatic, but a friend nonetheless. And he is pretty sure she feels the same way.

(When he asked her the night of the show why she was doing all this for them, she just looked down at her pink tone nails, her hair falling over her face. He couldn't tell if she was smiling or not, but he could swear he heard it. _Consider this my community service for the summer_.)

When Puck gets home, he decides exactly what he's going to do. He knows he's a fucking wreck when it comes to this chick flick shit, but Santana dragged him to enough of them to give him an idea of how to bring the charm. Basically, his plan simple: he'll show up at Rachel's house around quarter to eleven. He'll grab a handful of pebbles and toss them up at her window, and when she comes over, he'll shove his hands in his pockets and shrug up at her, all big eyes and pouty lips. When she sneaks him up to her bedroom, he'll cut her off before she can get a word in.

"_Shh_—" He practices it in front of the mirror: the most intense look of impending sex he can muster plastered on his ridiculous face.

When he places his fingers on her lips, she'll stare up into his first rate panty-droppers, his sex eyes will overwhelm her and _bam_. Done. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

He's feeling pretty good about his plan when he shows up at her house that night. When Rachel hears the tap of pebbles hitting her window, she comes over and draws her curtains aside. He shrugs up at her, she opens it and gestures for him to come up.

As he fell through the window and onto the plush off-white carpet of her bedroom, he almost breaks his neck, and one of her dads calls out to her.

"Honey, is everything alright up there?"

"Everything's fine, Daddy! Just knocked over some books!" She shouts back, but not before smacking Puck upside the head.

He's standing up, brushing off his arms when she approaches him.

"Listen, Berry—" He reaches out and stops her in her tracks, ready to launch into his whole long spiel. But she's staring up at him with warm eyes, the bright pink of her toes matching the bright pink elephants on her purple pajamas. Before he realizes it, he can't even remember what his plan is let alone what he's supposed to do next. So he does something entirely foreign to him in situations of dire circumstance: he tells the truth. "I know you didn't come to the garage today because of what went down Saturday night."

"And what exactly do you think _went down_?"

"Um, you on me, obviously."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, clearly not amused.

"Okay, I know blow jobs and boobies can make shit weird for chicks, but I talked this over with Bam-Bam and he said—"

"You did _what_?"

"Yeah, it was weird, he kept going on about what a high maintenance harpy you are, which even _I_ think is kinda harsh—"

"Noah, if you have a point, it would be wise for you to get to it now."

"I just…" He doesn't know why he suddenly feels so fucking nervous. Unconsciously, he runs an anxious hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "I don't want shit to be weird because we—"

When she quiets him with a kiss, he's too dumbfounded to play it cool, so he just stands there in shocked silence as she runs her hands over the front of his T-shirt and blathers away. He's pretty sure he's dreaming when she says the words _no strings attached_ and _sexual release_ in the same sentence.

"So what are you saying exactly?"

"I'm saying it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Um, who are you and what did you do with Rachel Berry?"

She sighs and spins around in a flourish.

"We all need an outlet, and despite your atrocious personality, there are actually moments when you're not a scourge to society."

"…Thanks?"

She turns around and shrugs, looking up at him.

"Plus, it's not like this is anything real. Just a meaningless little summer fling!" She sweeps her arms up in a flourish and Puck half expects to blink and for her to be naked because he's had about a million wet dreams in the course of his teenage life that have started exactly like this.

When she reaches for his wrist and pulls him to her, he can't help but laugh.

---

It's strange, summers in Lima always move slower than the rest of the world, and Puck's pretty sure that's how it felt last month, but since July hit, things suddenly feel like they're moving at breakneck speed. The next day is the fourth, and even though he's stuck pulling an early shift at Vinnie's, he gets texts from the guys all morning about Wolf Hunter's Second Annual Independence Day Barbeque Extravaganza.

**Bam 07:02:34 AM:** O SAY CAN YOU SEE BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT

**07:13:52 AM:** new song? sounds gay.

**Bam 07:15:28 AM:** BLASPHEMER. don't forget the tobasco sauce. JALEPENO. if i see original…patriotic wedgie son.

**Bleeker 08:43:10 AM:** You get out at noon right?

**08:50:12 AM:** nope, out now. ur house. bonin ur mom

**Bleeker 08:51:24 AM:** Fuck you, asshole.

**Bleeker 08:52:01 AM:** Don't forget the sunchips.

**Bam 09:32:23 AM:** FOR PURPLE MOUNTAIN MAJESTIES ABOVE THE FRUITED PLAIN!

**Bleeker 10:12:03 AM:** I swear to god, Puckerman, if you get the styrofoam plates instead of the biodegradables, I will fucking kill you. DESTROYING THE ENVIRONMENT ISN'T FUNNY.

**10:13:42 AM:** ok captain planet

**Ethan 11:04:43 AM:** Hey guy, Bleek says styrofoam takes 900 years to decompose in a landfill.

**Bam 11:10:32 AM:** You can't hear me but I'm humming the 1812 overture as we speak.

**Bam 11:11:12 AM:** OR CAN YOU, YOU SLY SON OF A BITCH?

Puck ignores most of the guys' bullshit messages, but when Bam-Bam asks him if Rachel's coming, he stares at his phone for a beat before hitting COMPOSE NEW SMS. He doesn't respond to Bam, and instead drops a quick line to Berry: _bbq with the guys. pick u up 4?_ When he hits send, he tosses his phone aside and pretends like he doesn't hear it as it buzzes with her reply.

-

When he pulls in front of her house that afternoon, his truck full of drinks, various condiments and of course, styrofoam plates, he tries not to think about how this feels alarmingly like a first date.

He's squirming in his seat and fiddling with the radio, anything to distract his attention away from the obvious. And then he hears the passenger side door open and sees Berry climb in wearing a red and white striped tank top, a pair of cutoff jeans, and a navy blue headband with white stars on her head; he nearly busts his gut, he's laughing so hard.

"Oh my God, I'm pretty sure when Uncle Sam hocks a loogie, this—" he gestures to Rachel with both hands, still laughing, "is what comes out."

She crosses her arms and stares him down before rolling her eyes and straightening her tank top.

"For your information, Suri Cruise was photographed wearing an outfit almost identical to mine this morning."

"_What_ crew?"

"_Suri_…Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' daughter…?" She stares at him expectantly for a couple seconds before he bursts into laughter yet again.

"Berry, you're a fucking trip, I swear."

"Oh please, because it's such a crime to get in the spirit."

"Are you wearing American flag panties, too? Don't lie, you can tell me."

"I'm ignoring you, _Puck_."

-

As they scramble to the picnic area by the lake, their arms are full of loot and they're too distracted to really pay attention to what's going on. When they finally turn to the party, Puck looks around and realizes how fucking out of place he feels. Their grassy little area is full of guys and girls in skinny jeans and vintage-looking sunglasses, laughing and joking. He looks down at his T-shirt and cargo shorts and frowns, then looks back towards everyone. It's not even the black sheep feeling that makes him feel weird with all this, it's more the fact that they all look so fucking…Intellectual and shit. Puck's never been one to be intimidated by smart kids (usually they were the ones intimidated by him) but it's different here, and as much as he hates to admit it, he kind of feels like a fish out of water.

He's lost in his own thoughts until he feels Rachel's hand on his forearm. "So, do you know anyone here?"

He scans the crowd for Bam-Bam, and when he finds him surrounded by three girls, he throws him a head nod and a grin as he squints against the sun. When Puck turns back to Rachel, he shrugs. "Nah, just the guys. All these tools must be their friends from school."

Before they know it, Bam-Bam's jogging towards them, his FUCK YOU, KING GEORGE! T-shirt clinging closely to his paunch as his bright yellow apron (stamped PETA: People for the Eating of Tasty Animals) flaps behind him. He grins like a loon as he punches Puck's shoulder.

"Fuck man, why aren't you wearing the Huddled Masses Yearning to Breathe Free shirt I gave you?"

When he turns to Rachel and sees her look of outrage and disgust, his smile quickly fades.

"I'll have you know, _Robert_, that those of us who actually are card carrying members of PETA find that sorry excuse of an apron to be _abhorrent_."

Bam-Bam quickly mumbles an apology, pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side. Before he gets a chance to say anything to Rachel, she puts her hand on Puck's. Bam-Bam's eyebrows rise slightly as she tells him she's going to get a drink and to say hello to the other boys. When he nods distractedly and she moves off, Bam-Bam shakes the conclusions he's clearly jumped to out of his mind. With a goofy smile, he pulls their new guitarist along to meet some of his friends.

-

As the evening comes and people gets a few drinks in them, everyone starts loosening up and Puck feels less hyper aware of all the pretentious pricks around him. He meets all of the guys' closest friends and some of them are cool, but most of them are total douchebag posers, but he doesn't really give a fuck, just laughs obnoxiously at them whenever they try to make a serious point or sound smart. After a while, Bleek shoos him away and Puck wanders back to the cooler to grab a beer. When he catches sight of Rachel sitting alone on a blanket by the water, fiddling with her phone, he thinks for a second before grabbing a second Heineken and heading over to her.

When he plops down on the blanket next to her, she jumps a little, then breathes a sigh of relief. "You know, people who actually have manners usually announce their presence before launching themselves onto someone's blanket."

"Good thing I don't have manners," he says, handing her a beer. She takes the bottle and laughs lightly, shaking her head before looking up at him. "So how is it?"

"How is what?" He asks before taking a sip and staring out across the lake.

"The barbeque, obviously."

"Fuck Berry, you're here aren't you? Just look around."

"It seems like everyone's having a nice time."

Puck takes another swig of beer and looks over at her. "Then why are you sitting here all alone like a kid who lost her parents in the mall?"

"Well, I have to admit, the girls I was chatting with before weren't exactly the nicest people I've ever met. Extremely pretentious and—"

"Bitchy? You can say it, they're bitches aren't they?"

"—Basically."

When Rachel mumbles something about forgetting to bring extra sunscreen and shields her eyes from the sun, Puck pulls his Indians cap off and dumps it on her head. For a split second, she thinks about giving him a mouthful for putting his sweaty hat over her pristine hair, but the gesture is kind (a rarity for him) and she really can't afford to get this much sun.

"Listen, Berry," he says. His fingers dance lightly around her bare foot, she looks down and away to hide her smile. "We're playing tag football in five and something tells me those little legs of yours have got some serious speed." When he stands up, he reaches down for her hands and pulls her to her feet. "You're on my team."

-

When Rachel screws up five consecutive plays, they vote on whether they should kick her off the team. When the tiebreaker comes down to Puck, she crosses her arms and scowls at him, knowing full well what he's going to vote for.

"Sorry, babe," he says before nudging her away with a bare foot. "We're in it to win it and you're fucking awful. Go hang with Bam or something."

She throws Puck a disgusted look (what gives him the right to be so condescending?) before turning on her heel, kicking the grass and trouncing away. She would have sat on the side lines and rooted her team on, but given her unceremonious departure, they clearly don't deserve it. She doesn't want to give Puck the satisfaction of doing what he suggested, but when she scans the area, the evening's grillmaster the only friendly face she sees, so she begrudgingly heads over to him.

As she approaches Bam-Bam, she tries to hold back her gag reflex as the smell of charcoal and meat overwhelms her senses. He looks up at her with a smile then down at the chicken.

"Mon amie! What's crackin'?" When he looks back towards her, he's taken aback the intensity of the stink eye she's sending his way.

"You know, _Robert_, it was highly irresponsible for you to have no vegetarian options at this debauched gathering."

Bam-Bam eyes her suspiciously. "Well then, _Miss Berry_, you'll be glad to see that I actually made a point to bring some tofu burgers—"

When Puck glances up at Rachel and Bam-Bam bonding over frozen tofu patties, he doesn't think much of it. But then Bam starts tugging on her hair and she starts laughing and swatting his hand away. When he says something funny and pretends to smack her as she doubles over in laughter, a strange pang hits Puck. He probably wouldn't have thought anything of it if she wasn't laughing so hard and Bam-Bam wasn't starting to get that puppy dog Finn look in his eyes, but he can't help it. He just doesn't get what the fuck they could be talking about for so long.

He tries to put it out of his head, so he tells himself, _whatever, Bam's got his choice of tail, he probably just feels bad for Berry._

After all, it's not like he had any claim over her anyway, right?

-

When the sun starts its slow descent towards the horizon, streaks of orange and pink stretch across the sky and the grassy area around them starts filling up with people setting lawn chairs and blankets out for the fireworks. Puck's standing with two of Bam-Bam's physics major friends and they're talking about some subatomic particle something or another, but Puck's not paying attention because his eyes keep doing that thing where they drag themselves away from what he doesn't give to shits about and towards what he's _actually_ interested in. When his gaze settles on Rachel, he smiles at his Indians hat two sizes two big for her and the way her striped tank top is perfectly snug against the curve of her waist. She's sitting by the bonfire chatting with a group of girls; every few minutes, her eyes flutter up and meet his. He shoots her a lewd grin and nods subtly in her direction. Like clockwork, she bites her lip and looks down, her cheeks pink.

Puck's mind is too clouded with alcohol and copious amounts of red meat for him to focus on anything, let alone the two math dweebs standing in front of him, so even when Bam comes up to them and thumps him on the back and says, "man, your thoughts on the haldron collider, go." Puck just looks at him like he's crazy.

Before he even has a chance to respond, Bam's laughing at some awful physics joke one of his friends just made. "Seriously though," he runs a hand over his forehead and wipes the sweat on his shorts before turning back to Puck, "you should really give this shit a chance—you'd make a dope particle physicist."

As the two girls sitting with Rachel stand up and head down towards the water, Puck's attention is immediately diverted back to her. She brushes some crumbs from her cutoffs and fumbles with the glass of lemonade in her hand, looking down at it, over at the water, then down at it again. When Bam-Bam makes a loud clap, Puck's head jolts back to him.

"Really dude, all physics boils down to is the fundamental principle of opposites attract. Kinda like you joining the band—"

His eyes drift back to Berry as his friend's words slur together in his mind. Puck looks back at him, and nods vigorously, feigning interest. "Yeah, yeah." He pats him on the shoulder. "Yo, listen Bammer, I think I gotta go check in on—" Puck doesn't even finish his sentence as he excuses himself from the conversation and crosses the picnic area over to the bonfire.

"Yo, Lady Liberty."

Rachel turns around and looks up at him; the trace hint of a smile on her lips betraying her narrow eyes.

"I'll have you know—" He ignores her and reaches down, grabbing both of her hands to pull her to her feet. "—_Excuse me_—"

He tilts his head and stares down at her as she stares back stubbornly. "Why do I have to be the one who gets up? What if I'm comfortable here? If you're always gonna be such a brute about—"

Puck throws his head back and sighs dramatically. Usually when she gets like this, he wants to kick himself in the balls, but now, he feels a smile on his lips (god, since when has he smiled this much? Hanging out with the guys was seriously turning him into a pussy) and when he looks back down, she's smiling too. He tries guilting her to her feet with the best fake frown he can muster. She rolls her eyes and finally stands, looking into his eyes for a beat, their hands still clasped.

"Don't consider this a victory," she says finally letting go to brush the grass from her bottom. Puck doesn't answer, just slings his arm over her shoulders and starts leading her away. "I saw you chatting with Robert's college friends. How were they?"

As if on their own volition, her hands move to his abdomen and his eyebrows rise.

"Aight, I guess. Talked about space and shit." He doesn't even bother pretending like he cares, and instead burrows his face in her hair and whispers in her ear: "Baby, the only planet I wanna explore is Ura—"

She pushes him away and smacks his chest. "—Don't even say it!"

He laughs to himself as he pulls her hips to his and peers down at her through heavy lids, a sloppy grin on his face. Her eyes are sparkling and he's kind of trashed but it doesn't make him any less aware of the fact that they're still navigating this weird space between kinda friends and something so much better than that, and he's been with her all day and hasn't once—

He doesn't think as he leans down and kisses her, long and lazily. She tastes like lemons and spearmint gum and as her skinny little arms snake around his neck he locks his around her waist and picks her up. She giggles against his lips and pulls away slightly, her feet dangling above the ground. He blinks up at her as her hair cascades around his face.

"Fuck man, can we skip the awkward shit? I've wanted to do that all fucking day."

She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck again, pressing her lips to his.

-

The evening is a blur of spiked lemonade, melted ice cream, sloppy kisses and roaming hands. Both are too drunk to care (or notice) when Bleek rolls his eyes and mutters "I fucking knew they were boning," under his breath, or when Ethan pulls them apart to ask Puck if he brought his guitar. When Puck mumbles, "Yeah, in my truck," fishes the keys out of his pocket and hands them over, Ethan nudges their heads back together and offers a disinterested, "as you were." As they all sit around the bonfire, Rachel nestled comfortably on Puck's lap, Bam-Bam meets Puck's eyes, shakes his head and mouths an ominous warning: "_Disaster_."

(All Puck will remember the next day are colorful swirls in the sky and his hat brim hitting him in the forehead over and over until he finally spins it around and kisses her proper. She consumed her fair share of alcohol, yes, but she'll remember everything: his hand at the base of her back, steadying her against him, the feeling of intense belonging that rushes over her as she sings _Tiny Dancer_ around the fire with a group of people she barely knows.)

When the night winds down, their pitch is cleaned up and they're ready to head out, Rachel's leaning heavily against his side and her hand is tangled with his when she snatches his keys away.

"Noah, you're not driving me home, you're clearly inebereeted—Inebreeted—_Inebri_—" She shakes her head drunkenly. His fingers start dancing around her wrist, distracting her. "What's that word you always use?"

"Crunk." Ethan calls out from across the way. "I think the word you're looking for is crunk."

"Yes!"

"What? No." Puck laughs to himself then turns to Bam-Bam stupidly. "That ten year-old kid totally wanted me to moon him."

"It wasn't a him, man, it was a her, and I'm pretty sure that was verging on sexual predation."

"She did cry really hard, Noah. I wouldn't be surprised if the family brought charges against you."

"Whatever man, the sun shines out of my ass. I did her a _favor_."

Bam-Bam tosses the last beer bottle into the recycle bin before snatching the keys from Rachel.

"Listen, neither of you are in any condition to drive, and I'm not letting the Puckmobile get wrapped around a tree." He crosses his arm and sighs as Rachel beams up at him and Puck mumbles something indecipherable under his breath. Bam motions to the car with his head. "Come, come, children."

The second Bam buckles his seatbelt and Puck calls out from the back, "Yo Bambino, pump up the _jams_," he knows the ride home is gonna be a complete and utter shit show. In reality, he probably should have known when he opened the passenger side door for Rachel and she clambered into the backseat.

When he turns the radio on and switches it to some calm classical music on public radio, he hears a gruff grunt from the backseat before Puck reaches forward, hits station four and a deep bass thumps through the car. As Ludacris' voice fills the space between them and Puck let's out a hearty, "_ye_ah, _boy_," Bam can't help but laugh.

-

Half-way to her house, Rachel begs them to make a pit stop at the convenience store on Walnut Street and when she ambles out, Bam reaches back and puts his hand on Puck's chest, trapping him in the car.

"_Dude_."

"What the shit, man? I want a Slushee!"

"Shut the fuck up, Casanova," he pulls the keys out of the engine and turns in his seat, incredulous. "Did you not listen to a word I said about Rachel?!"

Puck leans back and laughs, "Yeah, I plucked her strings _real good_." When he sees that Bam-Bam's not at all amused, he shrugs defensively. "Listen, I don't speak college, okay?!"

"Man, you don't realize this, because you're fucking Puckerman, but Rachel—" he looks back towards the convenience store and watches her scan through the magazine rack before reaching for Cat Fancy. "I've known chicks like her, they can't handle douchebags."

"Thanks for the advice, Bambi, but—"

"—Not that you're an _actual_ douchebag—"

Bam-Bam blathers on to himself until the words tumble out of Puck's mouth.

"Why the fuck do you even care?"

He's quiet for a second, then shakes his head lamely. "I'm just looking out for you, bro."

Puck's too drunk to realize that makes no sense at all, instead just rolls his neck back and rests his head on the seat. "Dude, she's the one that suggested it, okay? I know you think Rachel's some special little snowflake, but we've got a history, so chill. It's cool."

Bam watches his friend through the rear view mirror and when their eyes meet, Puck speaks up.

"Can I get my Slushee now?"

Bam sighs. "Fine."

"…Do you have five bucks I can borrow?"

---

If the first week of July moves at warp speed, the second week feels like slow motion. Rachel falls quickly back into her habit of stopping by the garage every lunch break, big poofy pink skirt and all, but instead of meatless lunches she comes with trays of chocolate chip cookies, double fudge brownies and blondies. Her baked goods quickly put her in Vinnie's good graces (well that and the fact that she asks after his daughter every time she sees him) so it never matters that Puck stumbles back a half hour late, his shirt inside out and hair a mess.

They start off spending their midday breaks in the park down the street, but by the third day she's got a nasty case of roaming hands so they end up in his truck, his breath smelling like chocolate chip cookies as they make out in the back seat. Between kisses and peanut M&Ms, he complains about Vinnie's fucktard new assistant and she bitches about her job. It's one of those afternoons she's lying on him, her hands laced together on his chest, her chin resting atop; she runs a her index finger along his jaw and he slides his hand up her bare thigh, bringing it to a stop at her hip.

"The children are awful." She says, frowning.

He pinches her side lightly and peers down at her, mimicking her frown.

"You seriously need to quit that shit."

"And do what exactly?"

His thumb traces lazy circles against her hip.

"Dump the brats and be our manager. Full time."

He doesn't think she'll actually do what he says – when does she ever? – but the next day, she prances into band practice with an announcement.

"Attention, attention, I have _fantastic_ news. Wolf Hunter now has a full-time manager."

"I swear to God—" Bleek mutters, turning to Ethan, "if she says who I think she's gonna say, bro…" Ethan shushes him and Rachel's smile grows even wider.

"Why yes I am, Nathaniel. Yours truly has officially turned in her letter of resignation at Starlight Fun Zone on Eighth and Cedar and will now be dedicating all her energies to helping this merry band of misfits achieve the fame and fortune you so rightfully deserve."

Bleeker groans. "How many times do I have to tell you? We don't want you here, _Yoko_." He throws his bass down and raises his arms in frustration. "Fuck this shit, man. You know what I said about chicks." When he storms out of the room, Ethan rolls his eyes and chases after him.

"Listen, I think it's a great idea," Ethan says, walking backwards. "You and Bambino can tag-team the books."

"Oh, good thought!" She turns to Bam-Bam. "Just to warn you, I am actually quite skilled at handling finances. If you could just give me a sense of what you guys have stashed away—"

Bam stands up and nods enthusiastically, "oh yeah, of course." He walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge and pulls out a giant plastic container with a handful of change in it, the word BEERFUND written in sloppy permanent marker on the label.

"Here you go, boss!"

-

That night, Puck says they should celebrate, and he really does plan to pull a cruel joke on her and take her back to Starlight, but for reasons completely beyond his comprehension, they end up in her bedroom instead. He's got her pinned under him over her comforters and lately, every time they end up like this, they're both wearing progressively less clothes. He thinks maybe tonight will be the night, but as he stares down at her flushed face, her eyes wide and nervous, he brushes the hair out of her eyes and whispers, "Hey, you okay?"

"I'm fine, really," she says, her hand on her forehead. "Honestly."

He takes her word for it, because he knows too many questions will just spoil what they've got going right now. And what they've got going is pretty fucking good. When he gets her breath to hitch that way with a jerk of his wrist, he can't help but thinking that shit is more than fine.

-

The next day, by the time it's one o'clock, she still hasn't come to the garage and Puck's mind starts to drift back to the night before. He knows this little arrangement they have is just an excuse to mess around and have some fun this summer, but that look on her face…Something about it sticks with him. Taking girls' virginity is nothing new, but when it comes to Rachel, he can't help but feel a pang in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't really know what guilt feels like, but he's pretty sure that's what it is, and he doesn't like it. They both know exactly what they have and why they're doing it – they've always been on the same page about that – but something about last night makes him unsure.

All he knows is the second feelings get involved is the second the shit hits the fan. He's not worried about himself (although this strange guilt thing kind of fucking sucks) but he knows what kind of a chick Berry is, and weirdly enough, he doesn't want to hurt her.

When she saunters through the door a half hour later with a plate of warm brownies, the guys cheer and he braces himself. As they make their way out, he confronts her.

"Listen, B. I know it's hard not to fall for me and shit, but this thing we've got...I don't wanna keep going on with it if you think something's actually gonna happen between us."

The second the words come out, he knows something got lost in translation between his brain and mouth because she's staring at him with such disgust he could almost mistake her for Quinn.

"Wait, no—" he fumbles for the words, not quite sure how to say what he means without seeming like a giant dick. "I didn't mean it like _that_, I just meant—" He looks back up at her but she still looks angry as fuck, so he runs a hand through his hair and stares at his feet. "I don't wanna be the douche that popped your cherry, you know?"

Even though he knows she knows he's lying (about not wanting to pop her cherry; he was dead serious about not wanting to be a douche), he half-expects this to turn into some Lifetime movie, cry on my shoulder drama. When her laughter echoes through the quiet sidewalk, he whips his head towards her with a scowl.

"Noah, don't doubt it for a second…I'm an intelligent woman, fully cognizant of the consequences of our little arrangement. And honestly, I don't intend to have you rob me of my virginity." She laughs again and as her smile fades, she bites her lip and looks down. "I only plan to fully…_give myself_…to a boy that I actually love and who loves me back." Her voice is quiet and distant and he can tell she's thinking of someone, he just doesn't know who. When she looks back up at him, she's laughing again, her eyes soft. "And while what we have here is quite enjoyable, I don't forsee us taking that step any time soon."

She fully expects him to end what they have right there and then (_no shoes, no sex, no service_) but he just shrugs his shoulders. "Okay, cool. You're the boss, B."

---

After Bleeker's unexpected outburst the week before, Ethan decides to institute a new band policy: one day a week would be declared Mandatory Band Bonding Day. He decides on a DVD night and Puck thinks it's a shit idea (anything that takes him away from sneaking into Berry's bedroom is clearly not worth the time and energy), Bam-Bam thinks it's brilliant (anything to strengthen their eternal bond is always worth the time and energy), and Bleek's pretty whatever about it (as long as Rachel doesn't come). That Friday is their first official night, and naturally Puck doesn't give a fuck what Bleeker says and decides to bring Berry along anyway.

Rachel smiles merrily at Bleek whose jaw drops as she waltzes into the room and takes a seat on the couch next to Bam-Bam, immediately launching into a heated conversation about Baz Luhrmann's current masterpiece in production. When Puck notices Ethan and Bleek bickering in the corner, he dives on the couch and squeezes himself between Bam and Berry.

"Listen dudes, we seriously gotta get Bleek laid," he grumbles, slinging an arm over Rachel's shoulders.

She turns to Bam-Bam and shares a knowing glance. "Uh huh, okay." She says dismissively, quickly changing the subject. "You know, I understand his reason for concern, but really it's completely unnecessary."

"Rachel, it's not that he doesn't like you—" Bam says sweetly, leaning his neck back on the couch to look over at her. "It's just that—"

"–He doesn't like you. At all." Puck butts in, before giving her knee a comforting pat. "Good thing I like you, babe."

Bam-Bam rolls his eyes and sighs. "Come on, this is ridiculous." He pulls Puck up by the arm who drags Rachel up after him, and the three of them head over to Ethan and Bleek in the kitchen. "You guys, these fools just volunteered to get us the movies and snacks. You up for a quick round of Modern Warfare before they get back?"

Puck and Rachel both know that they've been sent away to give Bam and Ethan a chance to intervene with Bleek and on the car ride to Blockbuster, Puck's straight with her.

"I'm not kidding, we just gotta bet Bleek laid. Dude's wound so fucking tight."

"I really don't think that's what he wants…"

"Of course it is. Who doesn't want some skanky ho all up in his business? Nobody, that's who."

She rolls her eyes as they pull into a spot and he cuts the engine.

"Listen, I don't know who this Yoko Ono chick is, but from the sound of it, when she broke up with him it must've been really fucking bad. He won't shut up about her."

Rachel stares at him, truly awed by his stupidity. When he stares back waiting for her reply, she just shakes her head and pretends like he didn't just say what she thought he said.

-

The video store is surprisingly empty for a Friday night, so as the two of them peruse the aisles, he quickly stops paying attention to their task at hand and starts taking more interest in her miniskirt. What starts as an obnoxious game of grabby hands quickly devolves into him pulling her hips towards his and burying his face in her hair, pressing his lips against the warm base of her neck. She laughs and pushes his head away, but no matter how many times she says, "No, boy! Sit!" he doesn't stop.

In the middle of the action section, she gives in to his not-quite-charm. Giggling, she turns around and pokes at him, with equal, if not more, obnoxious fervor than he did to her.

"Hardy har har," he mutters sarcastically, grabbing her wrists with a grin. As he catches her, she closes the gap between them and he lets go, his hands opting instead for her waist. He looks down at her, one eyebrow arched, his face contorted in his trademark Puckerman smarmy grin. She reaches up and with a wicked smile, traces his eyebrow with her index finger, then pushes it down. He actually laughs (she rarely gets him to do anything other than complain endlessly or groan her name, so moments like these are cherished) and she laughs too before wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her tiptoes. Her shirt rides up and quickly his hands work their way under the back of it and she kisses him.

Suddenly, he pulls away. "—Oh wait, we should totally get _Showgirls_!"

She pulls away and punches him in the arm. He laughs again, rubbing the spot where her tiny fist connected. As she zips ahead and out of the aisle, he turns around and scans it quickly. When his eyes settle on 2012, he grabs it and catches up with her.

"Yo Berry, how about this?" He hands her the DVD case and she scans it for a second before laughing heartily.

"Only if you promise to watch _Funny Girl_ with me tomorrow." He groans but doesn't say anything in protest: an unspoken victory for her.

As they head towards the musical section, he's walking close behind her, mumbling dirty jokes in her ear, his hands everywhere. They're not really paying attention as they round the corner, but when their eyes focus on two familiar faces holding _Nine_, they freeze. It takes a couple seconds for Rachel's mind to finally register it: yes, that's Kurt and Mercedes standing within feet of them, and yes, Puck is currently wrapped around her.

"GOD, BERRY, I WILL NOT HAVE SEX WITH YOU." She has absolutely no idea what's going on when he shoves her aside and charges out the aisle and out of the store.

She turns back to her two fellow Glee Club members, flabbergasted. Mercedes is trying hard not to burst into laughter and Kurt is staring at her, his jaw agape, clearly shocked and vaguely disturbed. "Are you two…?" He makes indecipherable gestures with his hands and though Rachel's never been one to let her nerves get the best of her, her palms start to sweat and her heart races.

"What? No." When she starts laughing crazily, her friends' expressions clearly change from surprise to skepticism. They turn to each other and share a pointed look. She figures diversion might be a wise way to approach this God awful situation, but knowing the people standing before her, she's sure it won't work. Nevertheless, she tries it anyway. "So, how has your summer been?"

"Clearly not as good as the one _you're_ having." Rachel fully intends to roll her eyes and in grand dramatic fashion, give Mercedes a piece of her mind, but suddenly her brain is blank and she swears the heat rising on her face is from the intense blush washing over her cheeks. So instead, she ducks her head, snatches _Funny Girl_ from the rack and scurries away.

When she comes out of the store, Puck grabs her by the shoulders.

"Did they buy it?!"

She grinds her teeth and stares at him in shocked disapproval. "Oh my God, _you really are mentally challenged, aren't you_?"

She looks over her shoulder and Kurt and Mercedes are peering out of video store's glass doors, clearly amused and clearly ready to spread the word like wildfire. Rachel groans, turns back to Puck, and yanks him by the arm towards his truck.

When they get back to the guys' apartment, things appear to have settled down (mostly because Puck's pretty sure Bam-Bam and Ethan got a couple of beers in Bleek) so Puck and Rachel plop down onto the couch, her with the movies and him with an assorted armful of Sour Patch Kids, Snowcaps, and Bite Size Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

"Dude, no Twizzlers?" Bam-Bam laments as he sifts through the pile of candy Puck dumps on the coffee table. "That's just cold."

As the five of them settle down to watch _2012_, Rachel nestles herself comfortably on Puck's lap. It's only a half hour into it before Bam-Bam's waxing academic about the real functions of the Mayan calendar and Ethan's making Bleeker swear they'd make it through the end of the world _together_. For their part, Rachel is laughing derisively at the acting and Bleeker keeps shouting, "Whatever, Lloyd Dobler!"

It's enough to make Puck want to put his own head through the fucking wall.

---

When they find out that their next gig isn't at some bar they have to sneak Puck in, the three oldest Wolf Hunters breathe a sigh of relief while Puck mournfully fiddles with the edges of _Juan Puckerone Hernandez_'s driver's license. It's not even the fifty bucks he dropped on it that he regrets, it's just that the thing's a legit masterpiece and it deserves to be used. The rest of them disagree.

When Rachel found out the three of them are "scholars" at Ohio State during the year, she had _hmmmm_'d in that excited, creepy way of hers and disappeared for the rest of that practice, which inevitably devolved into Bam-Bam trying to get Puck to eat alfalfa sprouts and Ethan talking Bleek out of changing the locks on her. She came back the next practice with a grin that split her face in half. When she announced they'd be playing at some frat house on campus, the band exploded in an excited buzz. Ethan leapt up over the couch, babbling on about, "finally going home," and Bam-Bam clapped Puck hard on the shoulder, who after hearing the words _frat housez_, breathed, "Animal House," before knocking Rachel over in a bear hug.

The night of the show, they agree to meet up at the school gates two hours before they're set to go on stage. Puck doesn't really give a second thought to how the rest of his people are getting up there, just trusts that they'll magically turn up (whatever, if they don't he's ready to go fucking solo on these college blowhards, one-man band style). It's only when he and Rach pull up the meeting place and she starts checking names off a clipboard that he realizes she basically organized a fucking exodus to this place.

Bam's drumkit is loaded out of the van as their regular groupies pile out of Ethan's Carolla, and once again, Puck's stuck by the force of nature currently burrowing herself under one of his arms to fight off the unusual summer night chill.

Their set isn't long but it goes off without a hitch. Most of the students that have crammed into the basement to watch them are tanked by the time they set up and they sing along to even their original shit so Puck doesn't bother trying to remember the words to _The Erudite Heart_ (Bam-Bam's opus, which includes a minute-long drum solo, right smack in the middle) and focuses instead on pursing his lips and unleashing his sex pout on the drunk chicks in the crowd. That is, until Bleeker keeps kicking him in the shins, mouthing "sing, you motherfucker." Puck tries to ignore him, but when he has no other option but to acknowledge it, Ethan's already wailing into the mic and doing his Jagger bit, so no one even notices.

When the show ends and the basement erupts in cheers, Puck knows he's getting some serious action tonight. Two bleach blondes with orange fake tans (but smokin' racks) have been giving him the sex eyes all set long from the front row, so it's no surprise when they sidle up next to him as he's helping the guys take down their equipment. As he chats it up, he spots Bam-Bam sitting in some beat-up armchair in the corner of the room like a king on his fucking throne. He has at least a dozen chicks sitting around (and on) him as he goes on about the decline of rock journalism, and when Puck turns towards the back, he sees Ethan and Bleek taking on two girls in a game of strip ping-pong.

When he turns his attention back to the two in front of him, he crosses his arms and cranks up his game. He's having a pretty good time debating the merits of edible panties with them until Rachel's bobbing mess of brown wavy hair catches his eye from across the room.

She's sitting on a table – her bare legs crossed at the knee and hanging over the edge – and she's surrounded by a group of what had to be five or six dudes who Puck swears he's seen on one of those awful CW shows Santana used to make him watch. He wouldn't have thought much about it, but these fools are all up in the girl's business and he knows: it's always the pretty ones you gotta look out for.

Rachel's laughing and smiling and he knows she's probably telling them about the cat booties she's been knitting for the past week, but they're fawning over her, pretending to be all interested and shit. Of course, she's completely oblivious to the fact that they're totally eyeing her non-existent boobs and midget legs that deceptively go for miles. Puck's expression sours as he recognizes the look on their faces: the predatory glint in their eyes is far too familiar.

So he looks down at the chick hanging on his arm, still yammering on about God knows what, and then back up at Rachel, now shrugging her shoulders playfully and swinging her legs back and forth like a little girl. He swears, if he's not going to be the douche who gets first dibs on Berry's Promised Land, it sure as shit isn't going to be some asshole in a lilac Lacoste polo.

Puck sighs, exasperated, and tosses his head back.

_God, the sacrifices I make,_ he thinks to himself as he pushes Mystic Tan off him and charges through the crowd, shoving his way through Rachel's new fan club.

"Berry, you should let them know about your crabs."

The crowd around her scatters in about half a second, and Puck grins triumphantly. Rachel just smiles, waves after them dorkily and calls out, "It was nice to meet you all!"

Puck places both of his hands on her shoulders, ready to give her an impromptu lesson on the ways of the dude until Rachel holds onto his arms excitedly.

"Noah! I think I'm really going to like college when I go…I made friends!"

Her eyes are wide and starry and he wants to make some douchebag comment about her being so fucking rookie, but she's _so genuinely happy_—

He ducks his head and laughs before peering back up at her.

"Shit, you're cute."

---

It's a Friday night towards the end of the month when Puck calls Rachel after work. She's a little surprised that she's actually speaking with him on the phone (indecipherable text message is usually his correspondence of choice) and she expects it to be something band-related, but it's not.

His voice is tired and heavy, so she asks him how work was.

"It fucking blows, man."

She sighs into the phone then breathes a sympathetic, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Whatever." He's quiet for a beat and takes a deep breath. She can practically feel the exhaustion in the silence. "Yo, wanna come over tonight?"

"Noah—" They rarely turn down each other's offers of secret, window-climbing rendezvous, but last time he kicked her out before his mom came up, she was left with a bruise the size of Russia down her left side. She made a point to tell him how unacceptable his behavior had been.

"No, I mean literally just come over and chill. My mom's on call tonight and Sarah's staying at that perv Sandy's house—fuck man, no chance in hell I'd let that little—"

"Oh wow, isn't that _convenient_?" He can hear her smile into her phone and he laughs back.

"Dude, scout's honor. I'm fucking beat."

She thinks for a minute.

"Okay, sure."

-

When she rings the doorbell, he's lounging on the couch in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a wifebeater. He doesn't budge, just calls out a gruff, "Door's open!" and listens as it opens, closes, and the bolt lock clicks.

"What if I were an incarcerated criminal on the run? What would you have done then?"

"Wait, you mean you aren't?"

She grumbles under her breath as she makes her way to the couch and plops down next to him. She eyes his clothes and frowns. "I see you're channeling your eternal desire to be featured on COPS."

"_Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do when they come for you_?" His eyes are still glued to the TV and she pulls a pillow out from behind her and hits him in the head. He snatches it away and shoves it under his neck before crossing his arms. "You want something to eat?"

"Thank you for offering, but I already had dinner with my fathers."

"Oh yeah? How're the Mr. and Mrs.?"

She ignores his question and snatches the remote from under his leg and switches the channel from some baseball game on ESPN to _The Wedding Planner_ on TNT. "Oh, I love this movie!"

Puck rolls his eyes and finally turns towards her. "You would, Berry."

When Rachel shushes him, he mumbles something under his breath before he gets up and goes to the kitchen for a snack. He returns with a bowl of Cheetos and sets it down on the coffee table before sitting back down.

"J. Lo is _such_ an inspiration."

"J. Lo's ass is an inspiration. J. Lo herself is kinda useless."

Puck should have known that any sort of criticism of this shit-awful movie would set her off, but in all honesty, he kind of does it on purpose. Their stupid little arguments about useless shit are way more entertaining than he'd ever admit and he's pretty sure the way her nose crinkles up when he says something "repugnant" is his favorite thing about her (aside from her ass… and tongue…and hands). To his surprise, what starts as a fight slowly devolves into her making fun of him: a totally new experience for Puck, but kind of hilarious.

"Fuck man, you can really dish it, B. I gotta admit, this side of you is really hot."

Her legs are under her and she laughs as she turns towards him, edging closer. He pretends like he doesn't notice his eyes drooping, just tilts his head and laughs at her stupidly as she claps her hands like a kid in a candy shop.

"I just find it hilarious though! After all this tough guy crap you pulled in Glee, here you are writing songs about _love_ and _redemption_."

"Ra-_what_?"

"What was that line you wrote?" She's cracking up and slapping his arm over and over. "What was it?"

He hangs his head in shame, an unapologetic grin plastered on his face. "_Girl, I swear I'll be your main man, Do you nice and good whenever I can_."

She throws her head back starts giggling like crazy, and he looks over at her, more amused at her reaction than anything else.

"Oh God, Noah please promise me when you guys get famous you'll leave the writing to Bam-Bam."

"What!" He throws his arms up, feigning outrage, then shakes his head in defeat. "Man, B-Cup ain't got nothin' on this."

When her laugher settles down, she runs a hand through her hair and she sighs. "Really though, it's so great that you have such a wonderful friend in Robert. He's such an incredible individual."

Puck's eyebrow perks up and he peers over at her suspiciously. She gives him a _what?_ look, then starts lecturing him on the importance of being well-read, having manners and being able to use words other than "stuff" and "fuck" in his everyday speech.

"Okay Berry, we all know how perfect the dude is in every way. Hell, if I were a chick, my panties would be melted, too."

"It's just so refreshing to see someone so young with such a well-rounded personality!"

"Fuck, it should be well-rounded with all the ass he gets."

She smacks him in the arm and gives him a dirty glare.

"Honestly, the conversations I have with him when we get our weekly lattes are always the highlight of my day."

Puck looks at her suspiciously for a moment. "…You guys get _weekly lattes_? What the fuck do you talk about?"

She flips her hair and looks around the room, thinking for a moment. "Oh, you know...Life."

Puck's stomach lurches with an unfamiliar feeling (jealousy?) until he tells himself, _whatever, Bam gets the annoying as fuck Rachel, I get the good one_. He rolls his eyes and drops his head onto her lap.

"Okay can we please stop talking about Bammer's hairy ass?"

She grunts in disgust and shoves his head. He laughs to himself then peers up at her, his hands inching up her legs. She looks up at the ceiling (what a fucking tease) but when his hands slide over her knees, she looks down at him with a silly grin.

"What happened to _just chill_?"

"Changed my mind. Let's make out."

-

After a few minutes, they end up moving to his bedroom; he says the couch is too small and uncomfortable but she disagrees, so he just picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, her little fists pounding playfully against his back. When he drops her onto the bed, her face is red but he's pretty sure her smile is the most real thing he's seen all week.

He's the first to admit that it's a weird night (even for them) and his mind is hazy from lack of sleep and excessive Berry, so he's not entirely sure how their make-out session turns into them sharing his pillow, her hand on his side as she asks him about Quinn and the baby. He blinks lazily and focuses on her collarbone before he speaks. His hand runs smooth circles over her thigh as he tells her about a white house with blue shutters in Louisiana. A tire swing and white picket fences.

Rachel frowns and reaches for his hand on her hip. She pulls it up between them and laces her fingers with his. She doesn't know what to say, so she brings their hands to her face and rests her chin on them. She knows he doesn't do this well, so she tries changing the conversation.

"What about the college search? How's that going?"

"He shakes his head and rolls his eyes."

"Fuck college, man. The second I'm done, I'm peacing. Maybe move Columbus and live with the guys until they're done with school."

She frowns again.

"Don't give me that shit," he says softly, his voice thick with guilt. "You know I'm not built to go to college."

"It just seems to me—" her lips move against his hand and he blinks again tiredly. She pauses for a second and thinks. "It just seems like if you really want to get out, the smartest thing to do is to go to school somewhere else. Move away— a thousand miles away if you want. But don't ruin your chances for the future."

She stares at his downcast eyes and his jaw clenches.

When he finally looks up at her, he changes the subject. "So Glee Club, huh? Why are you always so fucking apeshit over it?"

She raises her chin and he can already feel the performer veil go up. "It's nice to be a part of something special that allows me to exercise my exquisite vocal range. Don't you agree?"

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Whatever, that's a cop out answer."

"What?"

He stares at her for a second then purses his lips like he's about to bestow some serious wisdom on her misguided ass. "I mean, I'm no fucking Bam-Bam, but it's pretty obvious that all this Glee crap…It has nothing to do what you dweebs always say about _the group_ and _fitting in_." She shifts her head back and stares at him skeptically. "You're a chick who knows what you want. Glee's just the start."

"I've made no bones about the fact that the Glee Club is simply the first step on my path towards fame and fortune. I don't understand your point."

He looks at her for a long second then laughs to himself. Rachel swears she hears a hint of self pity in his chuckle.

"God, Berry, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I kinda wish I was more like you." He untangles his hand from hers and rests it on her side again. "All fuck the man and focused on getting yourself to where you wanna be."

"Are you saying I'm selfish?"

"No." He thinks for a second then amends his answer. "Well, yeah." When she scowls, he keeps going. "I just mean—Okay, you? You're a one-chick show. You don't need anyone else to do anything. And when you do, like with Glee, you just get shit done." He takes a deep breath and focuses on his hand on her hip. "All I've ever known is being on a team. Football, basketball, baseball, even fucking Glee Club. Being a piece of something so much bigger than me, it didn't matter if I didn't show up or got drunk before practice, 'cause my boys always had my back."

Rachel feels the shift in the air and knows what he's saying now he's never said to anyone else. Hell, he's maybe never even realized he's thought it. She holds her breath when he starts speaking again.

"I wanna get the fuck out of this place but I don't know if I can do this shit on my own."

When he finally meets her gaze, she's taken aback by how miserable he clearly feels. She tries not to make matters worse, but it's hard not to frown yet again when he's staring back at her with such dark, sad eyes.

"Who ever said you had to be alone?"

Puck knows she's talking about the guys, but the warmth of her hand on his face and the look in her eye—

He's not used to actually feeling things beyond raging boners for chicks as they lie in his bed, so as she closes the space between them, her lips moving agonizingly slow to meet his, all he can think is, _Oh fuck_.

---

It's not long before they're past that point of no return but Puck knows whatever has gotten into them tonight might not last until morning, and he knows things will go sour if they don't do it properly.

"Berry," he says, pulling away from her. He can't help the smirk when she follows him. "Hey, Berry," he repeats, softly, brushing her hair from her eyes with his thumbs. "God knows why I'm bringing this up now but you said you didn't—"

"Forget what I said," she murmurs against his shoulder, before letting her head fall back onto his pillow, her hair spread out, eyes blown wide with a feverish delight. "Just forget—"

"Okay. Okay."

They're breathing hard and staring intently into each other's faces and he knows this is probably the worst possible time to crack a joke. "Will you still respect me in the morning?"

"I hardly respect you now, Noah..." She giggles when he arches an eyebrow and clucks his tongue. (You'd think they were still downstairs watching a shitty romantic comedy and not about to go where no man has ever gone before.)

The laughter dies down soon enough and they're back to that breathy intensity from before.

"Berry," he mutters, halfway between a warning and a groan. "Rachel."

"It's alright," she rambles mindlessly. "We're alright."

A part of him wants to believe her because fuck it, he wants this and damn the consequences. Another part of him actually does believe her because...Shit, he can count the people he actually trusts on one hand and he'll be damned if she isn't one of them.

He has one hand on her hip and the other pulling her thigh up to his waist, eyes on the bottom lip she's gnawing in concentration and all he can let himself think about at this point is that he feels good. Like, really fucking good.

He could totally write a song about this.

---


End file.
